Straight Out From Underneath
by GreenEyedLass
Summary: He'd been expecting this all along. Doesn't make it hurt any less.


Standard disclaimers apply. Not mine. You know that. I know that.

A/N: This is set in the future, after the series ends. I'm not a big fan of Dean/OFC fics, but this one wouldn't shut up. I promise, she's not a Mary Sue and it's really more about Dean and his fear of being left than it is about her. Just give it a try? Please?

* * *

He's staring at the wall.

One of the only things he's ever wanted for himself has just come crashing down around him and all he can do is stare at the friggin' wall.

It's green. He remembers picking out paint and thanking whatever deity that was listening that she didn't like girly colors anymore than he did. On walls, at least.

Same goes for the couch and chairs. He'd braced himself, dreading the inevitable floral upholstery, but his fears had once again been unfounded. Soft, distressed brown leather, warm, welcoming and familiar covered the easy, comfortable lines of the furniture. She'd said it reminded her of his old leather coat, the one he wouldn't tell her about and didn't wear any more, but that she knew he loved, just the same.

He had taught her how to take care of a car, to really keep it in prime condition. Given her a thorough education in rock music, something she had been sadly lacking, but hey, nobody's perfect. Let her in, shown her his scars, physical and some of the mental ones too, even if he didn't answer her unspoken questions about their origins. He had opened up to her more than he had thought possible, told her things only Sam knew, though not everything, but it had been enough.

He loved her.

Loves her.

And now he's driven her away.

Alone, again. He can't muster up the energy to call Sam, to draw on the only source of comfort he had left. His brother will come, he knows that, but he'll have to tell Sam what happened, at least part of it, and as long as he keeps it inside, doesn't say it out loud, it's not real, not completely.

Gone. She's gone.

_Didn't deserve her anyway_, he thinks bitterly. _Never shoulda let it get this deep, gotten this involved._

Deep down he's been terrified of this day the whole time, since the first time he introduced himself in that horrible, preppy bar, the one he'd been so relieved to find had been her sister's choice and not hers. Everyone he's ever loved has left him eventually, and he knew her time would come.

He just didn't know it would be tonight.

Light sweeps across the wall, his wall, splintering the darkness he desires. He dimly registers a slamming door, and footsteps up the walk. Someone's putting a key in the lock. That gives him pause. Sam's the only one who has a key to their place, and his brother doesn't even know what went down, so how could he know to be here?

The door swings open with a cantankerous creak, something she had begged him to fix. He had managed to never get around to it, content to have the sound as another small measure of protection, more from people than his and Sammy's playmates.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as a small figure slips into the room, a lifetime of training bunching his muscles smoothly beneath his faded jeans, ready to spring even as the scent hits him.

Her scent.

That damned expensive shampoo she uses that smells like fresh turned earth, that should have reminded him of hundreds of hastily dug graves but instead brought to mind Pastor Jim's garden, and a 5 year old Sammy's endless fascination with pulling carrots from the ground. The lavender soap she always buys for herself, and the special laundry detergent she insists on washing their myriads of black clothes in.

He could tell it took a moment for her to see him in the dark room, but she doesn't seem surprised, lowering herself to the floor beside him without a word, close enough that he can feel the cold radiating off of her clothing.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is soft, the earlier anger and venom dissolved by time and the physical distance she'd put between them.

"You came back."

He feels her turn to look at him, his gaze still locked on the wall, and he knows that the surprise and betraying crack in his voice didn't escape her notice. He can feel the scrutiny of her eyes, as she studies him and realizes that there's more going on than what she knows.

"Why wouldn't I come back?"

He shrugs, raising and dropping his broad shoulders in an easy motion. "I've been left before. I know how it goes."

He hasn't told her, not about his dad and the way he took off. She knows Sam went to college, but as much as he's let her in, as much as she knows he cares about Sam, she still doesn't understand the import of that fact, doesn't know the history to go along with it or that it hurt him so badly.

But somehow she understands this, gleans enough from his simple statement to see his underlying terror, and damn if that doesn't almost make it worse.

"Oh God. You don't think I would...that I could...," she trails off, sounding almost sick.

He finally tears his eyes from the wall, turning to face her and summoning up his patented charming exterior to hide the cracks in his inner fortress, but she's not there. She's moving, easing her body over his, curling her knees under to support herself as she straddles his legs, cupping his face with small hands and ducking down until she catches his eyes with her own.

"I. Am. Not. Leaving." She tells him emphatically, her gaze never wavering. "I will need some space sometimes, and I'll need to get out of here," one hand leaves his cheek to take in the small house with a sweeping gesture. "I'll have to leave sometimes, just to keep my sanity. But I am never leaving _you_."

He looks back at her, his eyes steady and for a long, agonizing moment she thinks he doesn't get it, doesn't believe her. Then the buried, hated fear in his eyes dissipates, the heartfelt sincerity of her words slicing through it and she releases a breath she hadn't consciously held.

"I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. For what I said, and for walking out like that. I shouldn't have and I-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, unable to say the things he wants to, even after all of Sammy's god-damned chick flick moments over the years, and lets his body say what his mouth can't. It's okay, because he knows she's listening, knows she understands.

It's okay.

She's here.

* * *

Reviews are cuddled and loved and fed fabulous home made cookies. Honest! They are!


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